It’s not much different from a fried egg
The shape of this morning. The colors turn resolute
On a well-seasoned pan – gooey white,
Yellow, ripening like phlegm. My teeth twinge
As you slice cucumbers thinly on a porcelain plate
We mince with utmost care, drizzle with paombong
A sausage stuffed with ground pork, saltpeter,
Garlic. Only steeped rice coffee can temper
This season’s sourness. With salt as delicate as rain
Sprinkling over sinangag, wedges of tomatoes.
Matching any sharp flavor or rancidness
From scooped salted egg, mashed
On rice returning to uncookedness
And speech after expressing the firsts
Of gratitudes and wishes in between
Sips, chewing, and gasps.
You decided earlier to sauté
And could have cooked more if only
The gas tank’s valve is not slippery,
If you only didn’t get rice husks in your eyes,
If only the sawdust kindling was dry
And the laundry beater was used only as fuel
Not pestle to black pepper, not paddle
On bodies as if severely beaten
For another day
Of looking for work
That’s easier to find
While my eyes are wide open
When I breathe wide awake.
This poem first appeared in FilAm Jam (2025).
—
Zosimo Quibilan, Jr.’s book of fiction, Pagluwas (Going to the City) won the 2006 Philippine National Book Award and the prestigious Madrigal Gonzalez Best First Book Award in 2008. His poetry collection, Ang Tanging Natagpuan (The Only Thing Found) is forthcoming this year from the University of the Philippines Press. He performs as singer-songwriter ZOS!MO in Los Angeles and leads No Sisig No Rakenrol, a musicians collective promoting original Filipino American music.
